First H/C Bingo square--sexual extortion prompt, star trek ficlet
Ok, so this is my first prompt attempt at the h/c bingo. I think it kind of failed, but I'm trying to stick to my rule, much as I'm tempted to not post this thing at all. It needs some fixing, and I'm not happy with the end. But I'm trying to comply with the rule. It's rough, so if you bother to read it, keep that in mind--it's more of a fic idea than actual fic. The prompt was: sexual extortion: to pay for something:
For the purposes of this fic, I’ve decided that in terms of Orion culture and Gaila’s backstory, this is set in AOS, which means it follows that history-Gaila is an escaped slave girl, in an Orion where women were powerless (unlike TOS canon, in which women had all the power on Orion). Also, I just wrote this, so whatever. It’s got issues, but I've got that whole draft and post plan. So.
Can't Hurt Me Now
**************************
She never resented Nyota.
She didn’t resent that Nyota grew up in a nice house, with her family around her. She didn’t resent that Nyota’s family had been rich, had had land and status. That Nyota had gone to school, as a child, along with her sisters. That Nyota had expected to be taken care of, her whole life long.
She knew Nyota fought for what she wanted, earned her position at the Academy, in her classes, at Starfleet. She knew that Nyota was smart, and driven, and commanded respect because she deserved it.
She knew all this, and didn’t resent her roommate.
Still, sometimes it hurt.
It hurt when Nyota called her sisters or her parents, chatting with them about their lives, what they were doing. It hurt when she went shopping for new shoes or new earrings, without worry. It hurt when Nyota flirted with men and women at bars, knowing that however much they wanted in her pants, they knew and she knew that they’d have to work for it.
Gaila had three sisters. She had no idea where they were, or if they even lived. She knew where her mother had died, but not where she was buried. She had gotten to the Academy late, through an exemption and on a bursary, and worked hard, every day, to earn her way. She lived in fear of leaving, of getting kicked out, because there was no other place for her to go, no family or home waiting for her beyond these walls. And when she flirted at bars, knowing that whatever happened there or after would happen by her choice-even knowing that, sometimes, there was a glance, or a look, or a gesture. Something that screamed at pulled at her skin, and it was all she could do to turn, and smile, and order another drink to forget. Forget, because she was no longer there, and she would make sure she never would be again.
Gaila had learned, from a young age, not to buy anything that she wished to keep. She learned not to wish for things she could not have. She learnt to have dreams, but to hold them in the silence of her heart, where no one else could have them.
She learnt that despite beauty, and intelligence, and care, the world could treat you harshly, could use you up and throw you away as if you had no more value than a replicated shoe.
Nyota did not live in her world. Nyota lived in a world that rewarded beauty, and intelligence, and care; Nyota lived in a word where she expected that hard work and good looks and a keen mind guaranteed power, guaranteed success. Nyota lived in a world where the men and women she chose to flirt with knew that they would get in her pants only with her leave, and by her choice.
Gaila did not live in Nyota’s world. But staring at the necklace behind the glass, as it sparkled and gleamed in the low light, she suddenly and fiercely wished she did.
But Gaila had no credits for such things. Gaila was a scholarship student, and all she had she’d been given or granted. Her funds went for books and clothes and necessaries; there was little left over for baubles and frippery. Her only jewelry was a pair of earrings Nyota had given her, once, for surviving their first term at the Academy.
She’d not been able to give Nyota anything in return.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” The man behind the counter was short, and fat, and his creeping gaze upon her made her feel as if she were back on the auction block.
“It is,” she said only, turning away. It was not for her.
“If you wish it, it could be yours.” His smile was insincere and his eyes greedy.
“Not today,” she said only. Where was Jim? He was supposed to meet her here; she’d wanted to browse the shop with its pretty things while he finished up in another.
“But why not? Pretty skin like yours, deserves to be adorned.” He brushed damp fingers against her neck, and she flinched away badly.
“Please don’t do that.” She tried to keep her voice steady.
“Not even to try it? Come now, let me put it on you.” His voice had become wheedling, cajoling. She breathed, and tried to steady herself. He was merely a merchant. Greed was his way, and she was a customer. Cadets and Academy staff kept him in business; he’d be wrong to offend her.
Still. “No. That’s all right.” There was no point, when it could not be hers. It was beyond her reach, at least right now. Maybe one day--because this freedom, this life-all this had once been beyond her reach, too. But not now, and even if not ever-it would be all right. She had enough. She had more than her mother, more than her grandmother, more than they’d ever even dreamed, and she would never forget that.
“Oh, what’s the harm? Here, take it. Put it on. Please.”
It was tempting. She would not buy it. And she was a cadet, now, which meant she could afford to dream a little, to know that some day, she might be able to buy such a thing.
He opened the case, and she reached inside.
“Uh uh uh. Not without paying for it.” His voice held an odd note of triumph.
“You asked me to put it on.”
“Oh, so that’s what you’re saying. Thief.”
“I am not a thief,” she hissed, looking around. The store was empty, but for her and the shopkeeper.
“You need to learn to pay for things, girl.” His voice was hard.
“I’m leaving.” She turned and strode to the door.
He called after her. “I’ll report you. You’ve left your fingerprints behind. How many pretty red-headed Orion girls are at the Academy, do you think?”
She swallowed, pausing; the doors sliding closed again in front of her.
“Oh, please,” and now his voice was disgusted, angry. “You know what I want. You’re an Orion. I’ve heard about your kind. I’ll give you the necklace for it. Don’t pretend you’re some blushing virgin.”
His words were sharp. They flayed her. She felt dirty. She felt unclean.
She felt like a slave.
“Sweetheart!” Jim strode in suddenly, taking her by the wrist, tugging and swinging her around. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Jim?” She wanted nothing more than to leave, to get out of this shop and never return. She’d been a fool, and forgotten where she’d …
“Oh, is that the thing you want? You got it. Hey, you, can you wrap that?” Jim’s tone was casual, but it hid a note of steel.
“What? Jim, no.” She just wanted to leave. She didn’t want this.
“You heard me.” Jim’s hand on her wrist was like a vice, but he wasn’t speaking to her. “Wrap it.” He flashed some credits, clenching them in his fist for a moment, before throwing them down. The shop keeper sprang to attention, wrapping the item in velvet and ribbon. Jim barely paid attention, looking impatient and superior as he held his hand out, before turning to leave.
“Actually, I don’t want it anymore. I don't want anything here anymore." He snatched up the credits, still on the counter. “And just so you know, threatening a Starfleet cadet? Is a crime.”
Outside, in the warm sunshine, Jim turned to her, voice demanding and angry, focussing on her. “You gonna report him?”
“I … “ Report him. Right. She could report him. She was a cadet. That’s what they did.
“You should. He’s a bastard.” Jim was fuming. She felt, somehow, like she was the one who'd committed a crime, something for which she had to atone.
“Jim, no. He’s not that different.” She didn’t care to report him, to file paperwork and answer questions and defend herself against ... she didn't want to.
“From who, Gaila? He’s a bastard.” He repeated it again, as if that would matter.
She smiled, a little, then. God, he was young. She, on the other hand, just felt tired. “The world is full of bastards, Jim. I can’t report all of them.”
“Whatever. He was full of shit. I think you should’ve …” Jim sounded sulky.
“Enough, Jim. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” She didn’t want to waste another second thinking about the ugly little man and his ugly little store.
“All right,” and in that second, as Jim looked at her, she saw that a part of him … understood. For a moment, there was a haunted look in those impossible blue eyes, and she suddenly knew. Knew that somehow … somehow, he got that … life was not always fair, that there was no victory, that talking about it didn’t make it better.
He wouldn’t push her.
And then the flash was gone, hidden beneath the shit-eating Kirk grin that he was famous around campus for, as he turned and started telling her something about involving his doctor friend and too much ale and a four-handed girl they’d met in a bar. And standing there with Jim, his bright golden hair shining in the sun, Gaila knew two things. Jim Kirk was more than he appeared. And he, at least, would never look at her as less.
And watching him, as he made some stupid remark and she giggled as expected, and then giggled again because hell, Kirk was fun and she was enjoying herself, she realized she knew one thing more, actually.
She was falling in love with him.
For the purposes of this fic, I’ve decided that in terms of Orion culture and Gaila’s backstory, this is set in AOS, which means it follows that history-Gaila is an escaped slave girl, in an Orion where women were powerless (unlike TOS canon, in which women had all the power on Orion). Also, I just wrote this, so whatever. It’s got issues, but I've got that whole draft and post plan. So.
Can't Hurt Me Now
**************************
She never resented Nyota.
She didn’t resent that Nyota grew up in a nice house, with her family around her. She didn’t resent that Nyota’s family had been rich, had had land and status. That Nyota had gone to school, as a child, along with her sisters. That Nyota had expected to be taken care of, her whole life long.
She knew Nyota fought for what she wanted, earned her position at the Academy, in her classes, at Starfleet. She knew that Nyota was smart, and driven, and commanded respect because she deserved it.
She knew all this, and didn’t resent her roommate.
Still, sometimes it hurt.
It hurt when Nyota called her sisters or her parents, chatting with them about their lives, what they were doing. It hurt when she went shopping for new shoes or new earrings, without worry. It hurt when Nyota flirted with men and women at bars, knowing that however much they wanted in her pants, they knew and she knew that they’d have to work for it.
Gaila had three sisters. She had no idea where they were, or if they even lived. She knew where her mother had died, but not where she was buried. She had gotten to the Academy late, through an exemption and on a bursary, and worked hard, every day, to earn her way. She lived in fear of leaving, of getting kicked out, because there was no other place for her to go, no family or home waiting for her beyond these walls. And when she flirted at bars, knowing that whatever happened there or after would happen by her choice-even knowing that, sometimes, there was a glance, or a look, or a gesture. Something that screamed at pulled at her skin, and it was all she could do to turn, and smile, and order another drink to forget. Forget, because she was no longer there, and she would make sure she never would be again.
Gaila had learned, from a young age, not to buy anything that she wished to keep. She learned not to wish for things she could not have. She learnt to have dreams, but to hold them in the silence of her heart, where no one else could have them.
She learnt that despite beauty, and intelligence, and care, the world could treat you harshly, could use you up and throw you away as if you had no more value than a replicated shoe.
Nyota did not live in her world. Nyota lived in a world that rewarded beauty, and intelligence, and care; Nyota lived in a word where she expected that hard work and good looks and a keen mind guaranteed power, guaranteed success. Nyota lived in a world where the men and women she chose to flirt with knew that they would get in her pants only with her leave, and by her choice.
Gaila did not live in Nyota’s world. But staring at the necklace behind the glass, as it sparkled and gleamed in the low light, she suddenly and fiercely wished she did.
But Gaila had no credits for such things. Gaila was a scholarship student, and all she had she’d been given or granted. Her funds went for books and clothes and necessaries; there was little left over for baubles and frippery. Her only jewelry was a pair of earrings Nyota had given her, once, for surviving their first term at the Academy.
She’d not been able to give Nyota anything in return.
“Pretty, isn’t it?” The man behind the counter was short, and fat, and his creeping gaze upon her made her feel as if she were back on the auction block.
“It is,” she said only, turning away. It was not for her.
“If you wish it, it could be yours.” His smile was insincere and his eyes greedy.
“Not today,” she said only. Where was Jim? He was supposed to meet her here; she’d wanted to browse the shop with its pretty things while he finished up in another.
“But why not? Pretty skin like yours, deserves to be adorned.” He brushed damp fingers against her neck, and she flinched away badly.
“Please don’t do that.” She tried to keep her voice steady.
“Not even to try it? Come now, let me put it on you.” His voice had become wheedling, cajoling. She breathed, and tried to steady herself. He was merely a merchant. Greed was his way, and she was a customer. Cadets and Academy staff kept him in business; he’d be wrong to offend her.
Still. “No. That’s all right.” There was no point, when it could not be hers. It was beyond her reach, at least right now. Maybe one day--because this freedom, this life-all this had once been beyond her reach, too. But not now, and even if not ever-it would be all right. She had enough. She had more than her mother, more than her grandmother, more than they’d ever even dreamed, and she would never forget that.
“Oh, what’s the harm? Here, take it. Put it on. Please.”
It was tempting. She would not buy it. And she was a cadet, now, which meant she could afford to dream a little, to know that some day, she might be able to buy such a thing.
He opened the case, and she reached inside.
“Uh uh uh. Not without paying for it.” His voice held an odd note of triumph.
“You asked me to put it on.”
“Oh, so that’s what you’re saying. Thief.”
“I am not a thief,” she hissed, looking around. The store was empty, but for her and the shopkeeper.
“You need to learn to pay for things, girl.” His voice was hard.
“I’m leaving.” She turned and strode to the door.
He called after her. “I’ll report you. You’ve left your fingerprints behind. How many pretty red-headed Orion girls are at the Academy, do you think?”
She swallowed, pausing; the doors sliding closed again in front of her.
“Oh, please,” and now his voice was disgusted, angry. “You know what I want. You’re an Orion. I’ve heard about your kind. I’ll give you the necklace for it. Don’t pretend you’re some blushing virgin.”
His words were sharp. They flayed her. She felt dirty. She felt unclean.
She felt like a slave.
“Sweetheart!” Jim strode in suddenly, taking her by the wrist, tugging and swinging her around. “Sorry I’m late.”
“Jim?” She wanted nothing more than to leave, to get out of this shop and never return. She’d been a fool, and forgotten where she’d …
“Oh, is that the thing you want? You got it. Hey, you, can you wrap that?” Jim’s tone was casual, but it hid a note of steel.
“What? Jim, no.” She just wanted to leave. She didn’t want this.
“You heard me.” Jim’s hand on her wrist was like a vice, but he wasn’t speaking to her. “Wrap it.” He flashed some credits, clenching them in his fist for a moment, before throwing them down. The shop keeper sprang to attention, wrapping the item in velvet and ribbon. Jim barely paid attention, looking impatient and superior as he held his hand out, before turning to leave.
“Actually, I don’t want it anymore. I don't want anything here anymore." He snatched up the credits, still on the counter. “And just so you know, threatening a Starfleet cadet? Is a crime.”
Outside, in the warm sunshine, Jim turned to her, voice demanding and angry, focussing on her. “You gonna report him?”
“I … “ Report him. Right. She could report him. She was a cadet. That’s what they did.
“You should. He’s a bastard.” Jim was fuming. She felt, somehow, like she was the one who'd committed a crime, something for which she had to atone.
“Jim, no. He’s not that different.” She didn’t care to report him, to file paperwork and answer questions and defend herself against ... she didn't want to.
“From who, Gaila? He’s a bastard.” He repeated it again, as if that would matter.
She smiled, a little, then. God, he was young. She, on the other hand, just felt tired. “The world is full of bastards, Jim. I can’t report all of them.”
“Whatever. He was full of shit. I think you should’ve …” Jim sounded sulky.
“Enough, Jim. I don’t want to talk about him anymore.” She didn’t want to waste another second thinking about the ugly little man and his ugly little store.
“All right,” and in that second, as Jim looked at her, she saw that a part of him … understood. For a moment, there was a haunted look in those impossible blue eyes, and she suddenly knew. Knew that somehow … somehow, he got that … life was not always fair, that there was no victory, that talking about it didn’t make it better.
He wouldn’t push her.
And then the flash was gone, hidden beneath the shit-eating Kirk grin that he was famous around campus for, as he turned and started telling her something about involving his doctor friend and too much ale and a four-handed girl they’d met in a bar. And standing there with Jim, his bright golden hair shining in the sun, Gaila knew two things. Jim Kirk was more than he appeared. And he, at least, would never look at her as less.
And watching him, as he made some stupid remark and she giggled as expected, and then giggled again because hell, Kirk was fun and she was enjoying herself, she realized she knew one thing more, actually.
She was falling in love with him.